My Disciples Became Scoundrels - Chapter 56

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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“Is this a pit of iniquity?”
“Well, there are plenty of low-quality fighters, sure. But why would a high-minded type like you wade into this mess?”
Cesare grumbled. Champion No. 1 finished the handshake and departed with measured strides.
Eccentric as he might be, he was the champion of this place. Not someone to take lightly.
Arkel, meanwhile, kept staring down at the papers before finally opening his mouth.
“My match is the one after next. I’ll go prepare.”
“Of course. We’ll be cheering you on.”
After he left, we returned to the Spectator Seating to watch. Cesare squeezed into the narrow seat and spoke.
“If things look bad for him, I was thinking we might throw some money in. Though given his nature, he’d hate it, wouldn’t he?”
The thrifty fellow would certainly dislike it. But it wasn’t a major concern.
“Arkel will win without any of that.”
A moment later, the Announcer climbed onto the platform. His voice rang out crisp and clear.
“Martyr No. 5! From the Southern Region. A promising fighter with good breeding. He’s also the champion of the Royal Swordsmanship Tournament!”
A middle-aged man wielding a sword stepped into the arena. A fighter seasoned by years of experience, exuding maturity and discipline.
From him emanated a palpable Vital Energy that he was consciously controlling—a mark of considerable skill.
“This one enters for the first time today! Unknown origin, unknown bloodline. All we know is that he’s a mage—so what kind of match will he give us? Fighter No. 13, the Nameless!”
Shortly after, Arkel walked out from the opposite side. Whispers rippled through the crowd.
“He looks decent enough from what I can see, but what do you think?”
“Still just a newcomer. Won’t last long.”
Everyone was underestimating Arkel. Beside me, Jenia and Cesare shouted.
“Big brother, win!”
“You lose and you’re getting no dinner!”
Arkel merely glanced their way once. Just as the Announcer reached for the gong strike, Arkel spoke.
“There’s a Handicap Clause in the rules. I’d like to invoke it.”
The spectators stirred at the mention of the Handicap Clause. Jenia picked up the rulebook she’d received earlier.
“Big brother, is it this? Where you apply a handicap that puts you at a disadvantage.”
“…Yes. The fighter receives payment equivalent to the handicap imposed.”
It was a dangerous rule. The opponent would be strengthened while he would be weakened. It was like fighting with all your pieces stripped from the board.
“Big brother’s always careful—why would he make such a risky choice?”
“He’d still earn money even if he loses, so that’s not why… No, he must be confident he’ll win. That’s why he’d do it.”
Even as he said this, Cesare’s voice wavered slightly.
The fact that you could earn money even in defeat was tempting, but this place would never let a loser leave whole. They’d carry out a corpse with money in its hands.
I didn’t think Arkel would lose or die. Yet I clenched my fists nonetheless.
Choosing his own shackles. Just as he had fifteen years ago. Just as he was doing now.
“Fighter No. 13 has accepted the Handicap Clause! Is anyone willing to impose a handicap?”
But the crowd remained silent. They simply didn’t know who Arkel was. The crowd-watching Arkel raised his hand.
―Shhzzzt!
The water flowing along the arena’s perimeter froze solid in an instant. A chill swept across the fighting ground, while heat radiated into the Spectator Seating.
“What—what was that? He just cast magic without even chanting?”
“Wordless Magic… I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’m imposing a handicap! How much for a Mana Seal?”
People began pulling out their money one by one. Staff members approached Arkel and fastened something onto him.
“Sixty million Batz for the Mana Seal, twenty million Batz for Shackles! And Disarmament has been added for another twenty million Batz!”
In an instant, one hundred million Batz in handicaps had been imposed on Arkel. Before they could fasten the Shackles on his wrists, he removed his shirt.
As he stripped off his customary Black Cloak and light Quilted Armor, his bare torso was revealed.
The moment he was disarmed, the crowd held its breath. And for good reason—Arkel’s body was not that of an ordinary mage.
A physique more muscular than most warriors, crisscrossed with scars. Cesare muttered.
“Who’d believe he’s a mage, looking like that?”
“He looks like he has a better body than you, Cesare.”
“I’m still better than that.”
The jokes fell flat—Cesare’s voice had grown quiet. Watching Arkel step forward in his Chain Shackles, he spat out a curse.
“Insane bastard. Money’s got him completely.”
The crowd murmured belatedly in confusion. But Arkel’s appearance had startled more than just them. Martyr No. 5’s eyes widened as well.
Only Arkel remained unmoved. As if all of this were routine.
―Dong…!
The moment the gong sounded, Martyr No. 5 drove off the ground. The distance between him and Arkel closed in an instant. He meant to end it with a sudden assault.
What would a mage with sealed Mana and bound hands look like? It was obvious. But there was one thing he didn’t know.
Arkel had already survived fifteen years in shackles.
―Crash-clang!
Martyr No. 5’s blade struck against Arkel’s wrist. The heavy shackles held firm, deflecting the blow with ease. The fetters were no longer a weakness.
Arkel spun behind his opponent in a heartbeat. With his arms unshackled, he moved lighter than ever before. There was no snowdrift clinging to his ankles like in the Northern Region.
“Ugh……!”
Martyr No. 5 was caught off-guard but quickly twisted his body to evade the counterattack. He swung his blade with a flustered expression.
—Clang, shriek!
Three exchanges flashed past in lightning succession. Just after the blade grazed Arkel’s arm, his nails raked across his opponent’s cheek.
Then a wound appeared on Arkel’s cheek. Fresh blood trickled down in the exact same spot. Yet the blade had not touched him there.
Arkel’s brow furrowed slightly. The next instant, Martyr No. 5’s blade came flying. A new wound was carved atop Arkel’s old scar.
His opponent seemed at ease. Even after taking Arkel’s fist square to the face.
—Thud!
Martyr No. 5’s lip split open, blood spilling forth. At the same moment, blood beaded on Arkel’s lip as well.
“Master, did you see? Big brother’s lip is bleeding too. Just now his cheek suddenly got a wound.”
“Yes. It seems his ability is to inflict matching wounds on his opponent.”
I swallowed a sigh. Not an easy victory to claim, and even winning would exact a heavy price.
Arkel kept his distance, studying his opponent. The wounds were numerous, though none grave. Martyr No. 5 spoke in a flat tone.
“I have no taste for torturing those who cannot fight back. I would accept your surrender now.”
Arkel wiped his lip with the back of his hand. As he saw the blood, his silver-gray eyes seemed to gleam with an eerie red light.
“I do.”
Martyr No. 5 abandoned all pretense of ease. A barrage of attacks followed, driving Arkel back half a step.
“What? Why is he just taking all those hits?”
“Should we bet money on big brother?”
His opponent’s ability was clearly formidable. Yet Arkel’s expression remained serene.
He was waiting for something. His gaze remained locked on the onrushing blade. He was not helplessly absorbing the blows—he was deliberately taking them.
The opponent’s ability must have had mana limitations. He was baiting the other to exhaust his power while sidestepping fatal wounds.
Martyr No. 5 seemed to realize this; his attack pattern shifted. The blade began targeting vital points.
Neck and heart. His strikes concentrated on those two places alone. The moment the blade began focusing on only those two spots—
—Crash!
Arkel caught the blow with his chain. The blade’s edge lodged in the center of the links.
As the target area narrowed to two, his opponent’s attacks became easier to predict. Arkel’s eyes, still in defensive stance, blazed with sudden sharpness.
In an instant, the chain wrapped around the blade like a serpent. Arkel threw his weight into it, wrenching and twisting with force.
—Snap!
The sword flew from Martyr No. 5’s grip. The blade’s edge, burdened by force, shrieked and broke clean off.
Giving his opponent no chance to recover, Arkel wrapped the chain around his neck.
“Gagh……!”
Choking from behind, Martyr No. 5 gasped and wheezed. Arkel too clenched his jaw, his brow creasing in strain.
Jenia turned to me with a question.
“The same wounds appear on both of them, right? If Martyr No. 5’s neck breaks, won’t big brother die too?”
“Yes. Arkel will know this. So he’ll only squeeze hard enough to keep him alive.”
Chain marks began to appear on Arkel’s neck. Yet he did not release his grip.
When bones break, some fall. Others endure. I had seen this many times—those accustomed to pain were the ones who held on.
And my student was such a person.
“Nngh, guhhh…….”
The struggling opponent finally went limp. The Spectator Seating fell silent in an instant.
Those who had been clamoring moments before now held their tongues. The Announcer barely collected himself.
“Champion No. 13 is victorious……!”
The roar came late and muted. It was not the jubilation of triumph. The noise was closer to confusion and dread.
Arkel showed no reaction to the sound. He merely gazed down at his opponent with what seemed like disappointment.
“Bad luck, you. Without your ability, it would have been a rare pleasure.”
As Martyr No. 5 ceased to move, staff rushed in frantically, seemingly to check whether he lived.
Arkel removed his shackles, snatched the clothes an attendant offered, and slipped out of the Arena.
We headed straight to the Fighter Waiting Room. Arkel applied medicine to his wounds and glanced over at us. His expression seemed almost satisfied.
“Master, I have won…….”
—Bonk!
I struck him a sharp blow to the crown of his head. This reckless colt. Arkel stared at me in bewilderment.
“Master?”
“Why did you do something so rash? If there had been no handicap, you could have ended this unscathed!”
Chain marks still stood vivid on Arkel’s neck. He hesitated before speaking.
“I saw shackles among the Handicap Clause. I judged that even with my Mana Seal and hands restrained, if the opponent wielded a blade, I would have a chance at victory, and…….”
He glanced at me cautiously before continuing.
“Even if I lost, there is Cesare. If I earn around one hundred million Batz, losing would not be so terrible either.”
“You getting hurt?”
“That’s not particularly important——.”
Thwack!
I gave him another chop to the head. I was about to land another when Jenia stopped me from behind.
“Let him be.”
“Master, my brother is hurt.”
“He says his own pain isn’t particularly important. In that case, surely a few blows from me won’t matter either.”
I don’t understand how someone so clever can be so utterly senseless at times. Arkel lifted his hand and touched the crown of his head where I’d struck him. His eyes wavered.
Even when he’d been covered in blood, his gaze had remained steady. Now it trembled.
“Master……?”
As if my blow had shocked him more than the chain around his throat ever could.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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